


Gone Green

by GhastlyGhost



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 15:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15633186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhastlyGhost/pseuds/GhastlyGhost
Summary: Sanguine managed to convince Mehrunes Dagon and Malacath to come with him on a trip to Nirn, in an attempt to have Mehrunes wind down and to have Malacath be less bitter for at least a little while. Maybe even have the daedra get along, for a change.





	1. The gang's all here

An orc and and imperial sat together among the joyous few guests of the Nightingale Inn. It wasn’t too late, but people had already asked what they’d been here for and how long they were looking to stay. They were just waiting on a friend. One who would hopefully be here any moment now. Between the two lay a map of Skyrim, partially being used as a coaster for a dripping mug of mead, much to the orc’s dismay. Keen green eyes went over the details of the mapped area, until they found the edge of the other man’s drink, and rose to his face with a glint of anger in them. A soft laugh left the imperial, who promptly raised his mug and leaned back in his seat. “Calm down there, pathfinder,” he teased. 

Before the orc could respond, no doubt in a rather sour way, going by his expression and body language, he was interrupted by the loud crash of the Inn door swinging open with such force that it slammed against the wall it was hinged on. All the bar goers jumped at the noise and snapped their heads around to see who it was. Well, all but the imperial and orc pair, of course. They merely glanced over, not giving it their full attention until they saw who it was. In the opening stood another larger orc with a fur skirt and braided hair on the top of the head, large axe resting over the shoulder. A soft growl left them as their fiery eyes scanned the room. 

“Sam,” the orc shouted once the imperial caught their eye. A tired blink was offered in their direction. The imperial kept giving them a rather impassioned look, but then it finally sank in who it was.  
“Mehri,” the imperial shouted, slamming his mug back down as he got up, winning an annoyed growl from the orc at the table. “You finally made it.” With arms spread and a wide grin on his face he walked up to the orc at the door, and went in for a hug. “I hope the divines didn't give you any trouble.” Before he could get his arms even a little around the Mehrunes’ body, he was shoved aside hard enough to almost lose his balance.

“Since getting into Skyrim, no more than they'd give a regular orc,” Mehrunes commented while brushing bits of snow off of his clothes. He noticed the other orc who’d been sitting with the imperial, and quickly identified him as Malacath. “So you did bother to bring him into the world with you, I see.” Mehrunes folded his arms over his chest, glaring daggers. “Do you have any idea how bothersome and tedious it was…” he growled, after which his voice grow into a shout, “...walking all the way from the shrine?”

“He needed the help,” the imperial replied with a shrug as he went back to their table.

Malacath gave Mehrunes a discerning stare, a deep frown etched onto his face. Obviously, Mehrunes had done something wrong. “I wanted to keep my teeth,” Mehrunes explained, having assumed Malacath was upset by him choosing a form of one of his kin. “I'd feel more naked without them than I already do with just two arms.” 

That was met with a huff from Malacath as he turned his gaze towards the imperial, who had made his way back to the table they were at and was currently was busy hastily swigging down the last of his drink as though he’d no longer have the chance now that Mehrunes was here. “Sanguine, when are we leaving,”Malacath asked.

Sanguine raised his finger to Malacath as he finished his drink, and let out a satisfied sigh once it was all gone. “It’s Sam, while we’re here, Mal. Don’t forget.” 

In the time it had taken for the three to get themselves all introduced, the Inn’s patrons had gotten back to their own business, even after Mehrunes slammed the door back shut to keep the cold from caressing his back any longer. He rolled his shoulders and headed to the table with the other Princes, dropping his axe off his shoulder with the heavy part on the ground. “I’d like to know when we’re leaving, too, Sam.”

“Right. Right.” A sigh left Sanguine and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head a little as he uttered, “Such a hurry, you two…” With that, he leaned on the table and pressed his finger onto the map. “We are here,” he stated, tapping on the Nightingale Inn. Easing the pressure on the parchment some, he moved his finger over Morthal, and to the north-west, headed for Solitude. “We’re going there. Really, not that hard.”

“Save for the swamp,” Malacath noted. Such a thing was a minor obstacle for a Daedric Prince, but it was an annoyance, certainly when they were in this form, trying to pass as mortals. The cold, the wet, and the painful all affected them. They couldn’t just charge through the map like a bunch of blind fools with a death wish. 

“It’ll be fine,” Sanguine dismissed with a hand wave and a scoff.

Malacath argued, raising his voice and jabbing a finger at Sanguine. “You cannot-”

Before he could finish speaking even half of what he wanted to say, Sanguine snatched up the map and a travel bag that was lying by his feet. “Let’s go,” he announced, a lauge smile plastered to his face while Malacath looked at him with lowered brows and wide eyes. 

There was a huff from Mehrunes as he slung his axe back over his shoulder, effortlessly, and not paying attention to the patrons around him, causing him to nearly strike one over the top of the head. He only knew this to be the case because a high-pitched yelp came from behind him, causing him to turn around, and he saw a cowering Breton before him. He cast a harsh gaze down at the being that still stood with hands over the hair. 

Suddenly, the Breton threw his hands down and opened his mouth to yell. However, there was no sound from him. The moment he laid eyes on Mehrunes, he froze, eyes wide, and mouth closing until only slightly agape. “Ah… Um…” The Breton’s eyes went over Mehrunes’ barely clothed figure, and his face began to run red, before he offered a quick bow while stammering something. Only “Ma’am” was understandable from all of it. The man quickly scurried away, Mehrunes following him with furrowed brow and crooked frown. Once, the man was out of the way, Mehrunes merely popped his brows up for the briefest of moments and continued on to the doos as he let out a deep sigh and cast a glance at Sanguine. 

“I see he likes them big,” Sanguine jested, giving Mehrunes a soft nudge with his elbow.  
“As though he is even remotely worthy,” Malacath scoffed, casting a cold glare in the direction of the Breton as he followed behind Sanguine with his arms crossed. “Did you not see him cower?”  
Mehrunes snorted. “It’s rare for mortals NOT to cower.” 

Granted, he was usually in a far more imposing form than just an Orc with thick body and muscles. While he was certainly quite tall, he did not exactly tower over most mortals in this form, and no one know who or what he was. As far as the Breton was aware, Mehrunes was just another killable creature. That was likely why his face became more akin to a ripe tomato. He couldn’t appreciate Mehrunes’ appearance had he seen the way he usually looked. It was monstrous. It was associated with pain and terror. It was a nightmare. This form… This form was merely that of an outcast.

“He probably likes how you could break him in every way…” Sanguine mused, his eyes turning upward as he thought on all the things this mortal may have wanted Mehrunes to do to him in that short moment of visual appraisal.  
“I suppose, I could relate,” Mehrunes admitted. He ripped the door out of the Inn open and walked into the snow. “I wouldn’t squirm at anybody’s mere presence, however.”

He had some pride and dignity to maintain. It wasn’t as though he’d had it very easy either, after his defeat at the hands of Akatosh. The loss had been documented in a great many ways, some grossly exaggerated in its shameful nature. Slander was not something he was unfamiliar with. Part of it was what the image of him as a blundering buffoon came from. Being a Daedric Prince meant requiring a thick skin, no matter how tempramental one may have been. That was going to need to be tested on this trip, if he didn’t want to be caught by Alduin’s ilk again.

Flakes of snow clung to the clothing of the three as they continued on, travelling further into the outdoors, their feet sinking deep into the cracking snow. The farther the went from the Inn, the harder it became to see them, until they were little more than light and dull blurs in the distance.


	2. Mists of sadness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to Solitude, Sanguine has chosen to go through the swamps of Morthal, but this turns out to be a lot less simple for everyone in the party than he'd previously expected it to be.

Mists of sadness

Travelling from Morthal and to the north-west, with Sanguine taking the lead, they went through the swamp, tracking mud all over, slogging through the wet and cold. Malacath was visibly less than pleased. Verbally, too...  
“I TOLD you this was the least optimal route,” Malacath griped.  
“You want to run into frost trolls, then?” Sanguine argued.  
Malacath huffed. “I would have welcomed that.” “  
Pfff, we’re here, now, so shut up. Will ya?”  
Of course fighting through swamps of frost trolls weren’t the only ways around, if they had money and the route to a place with a carriage. Which they did, but Sanguine hadn't quite thought of that and no one questioned him. After all, it was just the mortal plane. How hard could their travels be?

“Do not silence me, filth,” Malacath spat. Something Sanguine ignored. It wasn't as though he wasn't a Daedric Prince and had heard that from many Princes several times over before or anything. He couldn't count how often one of them felt some kind of way about something small from a peer, especially peers they felt beneath them. Sanguine tried to recall the most recent while Malacath ranted behind him. At least he wasn't trying to fight him, so Sanguine couldn't care much less about his griping than he currently did. Speaking of other Princes who talked to him like that...

“Now, hold on,” Sanguine commented, halting abruptly, nearly causing Malacath to bump into him. He furrowed his brow and rubbed his fingers on his chin, paying Malacath’s stare no heed and not bothering to explain anything to him. His eyes scanned around through the thick mists of the area, though there was horribly little for him to see, aside from the silhouettes of some dead trees and the like. “Where did the big guy go?”

That made Malacath finally shut up. He tore his gaze from Sanguine and stared into the distance, where he found nothing. He could have sworn Mehrunes was walking ahead of them. Both of them were certain of it. How could neither of them have noticed his heavy footfalls fading away? Certainly, they would have been audible even through their bickering. Then again, they found themselves in the exact situation that was bound occur if that were not the case, so it seemed bickering won over Mehrunes’ heavy paces when it came to what was louder. 

Malacath scrunched his nose and thought. Mehrunes couldn’t have gone too far. The idiot may have not been paying much attention in his rush to get to where they were headed, but if they picked up their pace, Sanguine and Malacath could catch up to him. They were all headed the same direction, after all. Even if they didn’t find him in the area, they would meet again in Solitude, eventually, unless someone got lost. Malacath found that rather unlikely, however, considering the ability of the Princes to view Mundus in several places without being present.

“We should-” 

Before Malacath could finish that sentence, he had turned his head and saw the space Sanguine had once occupied was now empty as well. He raised his gaze to the horizon, and there was once again nothing to be seen. Had the fool begun to walk without telling him? 

“By ANU!” he growled, slamming a hand to his head. With wide strides he began to march in the direction they’d last been headed. There was no guarantee that he’d find them, but at least he’d end up on the other side of this wretched place.

\--

“Right, so he’s not this way,” Sanguine mused out loud, still rubbing his chin, talking as though he currently still had company. He only found that out to not be the case, when he turned to ask, “So, Mal, what do you think is the best action here?” 

It took a moment for him to realize he was talking to nothing but damp air, having assumed that Malacath was just being all Prince-y and using an ability despite one of Sanguine's request upon agreeing to this trek was to keep the Daedric powers to a minimum and keep the bodies at about mortal strength. Maybe a little stronger, but not so much so that people would obviously know who they were. “I didn’t know you used invisibility.” Finally, it seemed to come through to him, when the mist swirled slowly and softly with no response. You know, as some mist did. His shoulders dropped, and his mouth twisted into a deep frown with his brows furrowed and his nose crinkled. “Okay, you’re just not there, then. Nice.”

Were these people expecting him to travel alone? Sanguine? Alone? Ha. Sure, he spent time in some of his instances being away from others, but he was never truly alone. One of his instances, or other parts of his being walking around being what mortals and fellow daedra referred to as Sanguine, would guaranteed be with at least one other someone. Pff… Sanguine alone. No, that was not about to happen. Especially not in this depressing hellscape. Making it seem just about as easy as breathing for a mortal with healthy lungs in a suitable environment, Sanguine conjured a Dremora to keep him company. The being had no real expression on their face when it showed up in the red and black flurry, and this didn’t change once they saw who they’d been summoned by. In spite of this, Sanguine seemed pleased, standing with a wide grin on his face as he watched his package arrive.

“There, that’s better,” Sanguine commented, clapping and rubbing his hands together, after which he lowered them to slightly lift his robe from the much he was trudging in, though it was already quite soaked up to the knees by this point. “So, I come here with these assholes, thinking we can have fun, and they run off,” he began to rant. “They think this is so easy. That it’s so easy to get people like them to have fun with me. They probably did this on purpose. It’s not the first time they sabotage my plans. They do it to each other, all the time. All Princes, I mean. Just look at Clavicus, or J-” Sanguine shook his head there. A name best left forgotten to the void, lest the barer return. “Sheogorath.” That was better. Though, thinking of it, Sheogorath had seemed a little different from different in recent centuries. Likely because he was mantled, again, but there was something else. Usually, he would have fully went back to the old him as easily as Sanguine downed an ale. This one was taking time. The Princes had chalked it up to the Champion of that era having an exceptionally strong will and the people of Tamriel knowing them well enough to preserve the memory. Sanguine believed it, and he honestly felt torn. The hero was supposed to be his to corrupt. Anyway, back to the matter at hand. Sanguine took a breath and went on with his whining. “Just look at Molag Bal. Can’t even invade Mundus without Meridia sticking her boot in his pie like she owns it.”

Having gone a while with no input from his summon at all through the entirety of his speaking, Sanguine snapped his gaze to the Dremora, with narrowed eyes and a deep frown. “You’re not even listening to me, are you?” 

“I am trying to listen for the others, my lord,” the being replied, softly and unbothered by their master's very obvious displeasure with them.

Sanguine paused, his mouth slightly agape an his eyes a little wide as he stood there with his arms crossed, tapping a finger against his sleeve. He shook his head and sighed, slapping himself against the side of the head. “Hello, Sanguine!” Where’s the brains at? Not in his head, clearly. “Ah, you’re so much smarter than I am!” 

A sigh left Sanguine and he shook his head a while longer. The Dremora kept his eyes on one spot while Sanguine spoke, causing Sanguine to follow his gaze once he was done. There was nothing visible, as was beginning to seem usual. The mist was merely thicker, but Sanguine could feel something the Dremora likely had sensed it themself, and he knew what it was. 

“Ma’am. Ma’am,” Sanguine yelled out at the vague apparition in the distance, raising his hand to catch her attention, causing the mist, and the feeling, to dissipate. “If you could get my pals over here, that would be great!” The mist had gotten about as thin as that around it, at this point. Whatever had been there felt far away, now. “Eh…” He lowered his hand and pulled a crooked frown. “She’s gone, isn’t she?” With a deep breath and a shrug in which he raised his hands a little, Sanguine just gave up on caring. “Ah, well.”  
Assuming that the ghost wasn’t about to be directing anyone his way, there was nothing he could do. 

Actually, there were many things he could do, but those took effort… It didn’t take MUCH effort, but more than he was willing to do, and definitely more than lowering his bag and grabbing a flask off of it. He screwed this open, and started sipping the alcoholic beverage held within as he wandered. After all, he might as well die drunk. Not that he could die. Not that getting drunk was something he could do easily in this form. This flask wouldn't have been enough either.

Once he'd had his fill for the moment, he offered the flask to his Dremora companion, who took it into their hand, quickly lifted it to their lips, and started quietly drinking from it while Sanguine stretched slowly with his arms over his head and scanned the ground. 

A flower caught his attention. It was dark with purple petals and a bright yellow center. A nightshade. He approached it and crouched down to examine it. He stuck out his hand to it and started toying with its leaves, flicking them between his fingers. The small hairs on the petals felt soft on his skin, like peach fuzz. What he hadn’t prepared for, however was the pain this plant would cause. A gasp left him, and he jolted. He pulled his hand back and covered it with his other hand. After letting out a soft hiss, he looked down at his hand to see it had been scratched and the wound was covered with a sort of black sap. 

“My Lord.” The Dremora rushed to his side, only to be waved away.  
“I’m fine,” Sanguine stated, while he pressed on his wound with two of his fingers after having wiped it to get the sap out of the cut. The red coming from his skin was stained dark with the plant’s substance, and he squeezed out likely a little more than needed, but it was better than risking whatever this liquid would cause in this mortal body. The plant apparently had barbs, that dripped more of the thick black stuff, unlike other nightshade plants he had run into. It was certainly interesting. After fishing a cloth from his bag, Sanguine put it around the the stem of the plant and pulled out his dagger to cut it. Hopefully, the cloth was enough to keep it from staining his robe pocket.

Upon further inspection of the area, there seemed to be a lot of plants growing here, in spite of the ground around the area looking hardly fertile. The plants had a clear line at which the growth began to peter off. Farther into it, a bit of wood was sticking out of the ground. The sides were smoothed, as though it had been constructed by someone. Sanguine lowered his brows and considered taking a closer look. 

“My Lord…”  
Sanguine looked back at the Dremora. It was only brief, however, as he was rather fixated on the oddness of this place. Everything he’d found along the way, until now, was damaged by rot, and now they found this with what looked to be part of a construction in the middle. As he took a slow step ahead, he saw more bits of similar wood scattered about. There was one near the center of this verdant growth as well, and a new feeling lingered in the area. Rather than sadness, Sanguine merely felt an emptiness. The urge to yawn rose in him and he lifted his hand to cover his mouth. He could hear a soft yawn leave his companion behind him. 

This wasn’t a normal patch of flowers. 

\--

Several minutes walking, and there was no sign of Mehrunes nor Sanguine. That was just grand. Malacath let out an annoyed huff as he continued on, moving his gaze from side to side. The visibility wasn’t unlike the ash that surrounded his plane, and it blew with far less ferocity, so at least he was certain he could make his way through better than the other two. 

He sighed softly and shook his head, but then he noticed glowing lights in the fog. Malacath furrowed his brows and glanced around him. There didn’t seem to be any other lights. He wasn’t planning on following these either. They could very well have been wisps attempting to lure him deeper into the swamp to suffer, but the other way seems to be marred with rotting flora. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. An eerie feeling of eyes upon him hanged around him. He couldn’t seem to find who or what this was from, however. 

At any rate, he needed to move. Even if he was taken off course, it was easy enough to get to where he was meant to go. Mud crabs posed the occasional annoyance, nipping at his ankles before being swiftly bisected with his great sword. The smell of them clung to him, but he didn’t care. What was more annoying was avoiding the deeper parts of the muddy landscape. Some parts felt shallow when first stepping on them and then sank once there was more pressure put on. Malacath had mud and rotten vegetation all over him, up to his chest, from a few of these missteps.

Eventually, watching his steps wasn’t enough. The mist showed a number of humanoid figures up ahead. Malacath readied himself for a fight, holding tighter to his sword as he slowed his pace. Draugr. Basic ones. Even in this form, killing these was easy. With one swing of his blade, the first of the undead was down. Cleft in two, the top half fallen to the ground while the bottom half collapsed next to it. The moment drew the attention of the other creatures, that turned around and raised their weapons, beginning to charge at Malacath all at once. 

Even in these numbers, they were no challenge. They were slow and frail. Each swing they took was dodged with ease. One was downed with a kick to the back of the knee and a blow to the head hard enough to smash the skull. Another had its legs cleaved through and was pierced through the head. In what seemed like seconds, several were down. Only one still remained, having approached from farther away, but it never made it into a real fight. When the last raised its blade to swing at him, vines rose from the ground to grab it by the arm. The draugr spun around and stared down at where it had been taken hold of. It took Malacath aback as well, but he had no time to wonder what was going on. This was an opportunity he had to take. His blade sunk itself deep into the draugr’s body. Less than a second after, the creature was cut in half from the abdomen up, its legs crumpling to the wet ground and the ash inside it mixing with the moisture of the swamp. Once the creature was down, Malacath gave the vines that still writhed over the draugr’s form a look. They seemed to come from somewhere. A small bit of them grew closer to his feet. He took a step back the moment they touched him, but they made no move to grab him as they had the draugr. 

His eyes caught sight of a small trail of them seems to be on the ground, seemingly rotten though also moving. As he looked farther, he saw a ghostly figure up ahead. Malacath said nothing to the figure as he approached. Eventually, when he got almost close enough to make out a face, the figure vanished. Nothing but the trail remained to lead him, now. The roots seemed to go around the other undead in the area. After giving his blade a glance and uttering a soft huff, Malacath proceeded onward.

\--

Water splashed and frogs jumped with every step taken as strong legs made their way through the dark waters with little regard for the area. Wood cracked, muffled under thick mud and dirt. 

Mehrunes was still going strong the whole time he’d be separated from the others, a light fire hanging over one of his palms. He grumbled softly and glared down at the ground, trying not to stomp on anything unpleasant that would make him burn this place down. Though, even with the croaking of amphibians and clicking of crabs around him, along with the light wailing of the wind, Mehrunes noticed it had gone quiet. The others must have finally been done with their ridiculous dispute. They could get on with their travels in peace, now. 

The ground under him stirred for a bit, and he cast a sharp gaze downward. Probably just another crab. No matter what it was, it was nothing to stop his pace over and nothing to use magic or weapons for.

There was something else, though. A soft rumbling in the distance. Mehrunes thought little of it, since it seemed too far away to be something that would attempt harm him and the others so soon. It wasn’t as though many beings of Mundus moved at high enough speeds to reach them from the edge of the swamp in a few minutes. However, the noise steadily got louder and Mehrunes realized it was coming from above him. A large shadow glided over him through the thick mist. A dragon. Mehrunes took in a sharp breath and held it, lowering himself to the ground, turning the flame in his hand off. A dragon.  
Ridiculous. These things weren’t supposed to affect him in this manner. He was a Daedric Prince, for Anu’s sake. It was just a regular dragon. At least, that’s what he told himself. It was not Alduin or Akatosh. Fucking hell, how pathetic. Cowering like some lowly mortal. Mehrunes straightened his back again when he felt the dragon was far away enough. He shook his head and pressed a hand against his forehead, after which he continued his wide gait through the waters.

A shack was ahead, with plants grown over it. From the looks of it, the building was abandoned. It had a streak of old blood on the ground that led to the door. Over the trail, the mist was thinner than around it. Over this, Mehrunes saw the shadow of a dragon flying overhead. A fight or flight response rose within him and he had to fight the urge to turn and engage the beast. Though, this left him with only the options to run or to hide. 

Now that he thought of it, the others were being extremely quiet. Sanguine would have mocked him the very moment he paused. It was easy for him to figure what the situation was. He pressed his lips together and wrinkled his nose. So he was on his own here… Well, at least he would be spared the embarrassment. They were just too fucking slow, obviously, and he didn’t mind them missing this. Though, he did ponder on whether he should look for them or let them be. It didn’t take long for him to decide it best to continue on to the shack’s door. Perhaps, he could wait there while thinking of a better plan than walking more in a random direction. With a shake of the hand, he reactivated the flame he’d been using to see, only larger to increase visibility. A shiver went up his body from the cold air blowing on his mostly bared chest. 

The wood of the door was old, stained with moisture, covered in mold, and slightly splintered. The metal of it was rusted from the time spent in this damp space without maintenance. When he tried to open the door, he found it locked. Figuring it must have been weakened enough by age for him to be able to break the door with relative ease, Mehrunes got into position to force the lock, conjuring his great axe back into his hands. As he raised his weapon and brought it down, thick vines appeared on the door. A growled and stopped the blade of his axe short from striking the vines. With a deeply furrowed brow he lowered his weapon and grumbled to himself. Well, this was an unexpected annoyance. 

It was a nice trick, but it had to go. Though, when he readied a fire spell to burn the blockade down, something caught his eye. A glow in the mist, not like a wisp, not white and cold, but warm like the fire he held. It flickered on and off at an unsteady pace, but it soon became a rhythm. This gave him pause. Enough so for him to take another look at the vines. They were old and dead. They were nothing like the ones he’d seen Sanguine create, but this light and these vines were obviously trying to lure him. Even with how ominous that was, following it seemed a better option than fighting a dragon in a mist he couldn’t see through with this weak form. Chances were, whatever this was would be an easier fight. 

Dispelling his axe, Mehrunes made his way along the vines and towards the distant flame. When he was beginning to get close, it stopped. He frowned, but then saw it resume at a farther distance. He stared at it for a moment, thinking if it may have been better to turn back around or if this was Sanguine playing tricks on him. It didn’t feel like Sanguine. It felt more elemental, though also mortal. Undead, perhaps. Many people did die in these places and the low amount of sun here would have been pleasant for vampires, but he doubted this was a vampire. The ones that turned to mist did not call this area their home, even with how convenient it would have been. They would have been practically invisible here rather than in Valenwood. 

As he stood there, pondering the situation, the flame disappeared and then reappeared slightly closer. It seemed to be trying to encourage him to proceed, likely believing that he was becoming apprehensive. That would have been a good guess. He had better things to do than to follow a random ghost lantern and he didn’t quite take kindly to the thought of a mortal, dead or not, leading him on like he was some simpleton. Though, the better thing to do wasn’t actually that much better. It was just ending this form or wandering blindly. He didn’t feel like doing either. The former mostly out of unwillingness to admit defeat. Sanguine knew he was given to a competitive nature, and naturally took advantage of that fact. Mehrunes wouldn’t have been surprised if Sanguine had made a bet on his odd of survival, again. If that were the case, this could have been Sanguine or another Prince trying to lead him in a way that would work in their favor, through a servant as to not give away that it was them.

It wasn’t just luring him either, it was leading him. 

What other options did he have? Mehrunes took a deep breath and shook his head. “If this is a prank, someone’s realm is going to burn,” he whispered to himself, with fiery eyes fixed onto the new destination set by whatever this entity was. Hopefully, where he was being taken wasn’t too far. 

\--  
As it turned out, it wasn’t. That, or he lost time in keeping his senses on where the dragon in the area was. Mehrunes was making haste as result of the beast, even without knowing it, branches and bones of dead animals breaking under his feet. The number of dean animals seemed to increase, but Mehrunes thought little of it. At least, until he saw and heard something through the mist. It was something virtually unmistakeable to him. A struggle. Combat. The heat of a flame grew in his palm, the markings on his hands and up his arms beginning to glow as he increased the intensity of the spell. With wide strides, he made his way to the scene, in which he immediately recognized Malacath before he even was close enough to properly see him. The man made more than enough noise for it. 

Charging past and shoving Malacath aside with the push of one strong arm, he pressed his spell hand into the face of one of the undead, lifting it from its feet in his continued momentum, casting a sharp glare at the undead ahead, and planting the head of the undead into the ground. The skull of the creature shattered to burning pieces. Its body burst into flame. A wave of scalding heat spread forward from where the undead and Mehrunes’ hand had impacted, cracking the ground, scorching the surface, and setting aflame all the undead and plants caught in the destruction’s path. A wide grin spread on Mehrunes’ face when he saw the beings writhe and shrivel to coal as he slowly rose from his attack. 

His hand and arm still smoldered when he turned around to Malacath, triumphant smirk still on his face. Though, this expression soon was replaced by a mild anger, mainly directed at Malacath. “You’re slow,” Mehrunes spat with a grimace. He quickly cut his hand through the air to stop the smoke coming off of it.

“You’re the one who charged through the swamp with nary a second thought,” Malacath quickly argued. This was met with little more than a glare from the other Prince, who then turned around with a huff, glanced at the roots on the ground, then at the glow in the mist ahead, and began marching. This time, Malacath followed after him, catching up to his pace. When Mehrunes saw he was behind, the Prince reached back and grabbed him by the arm to practically drag him. The grip was firm and verging on painful, but not tight enough for Malacath not to wrestle out of. 

“Touch me like that again, and I will cut your hand off,” Malacath hissed after he’d janked himself from Mehrunes. Where did this being get off on manhandling him as though he were some mortal?

Rather than anger the other Prince, it caused Mehrunes to pull a faint smile with a soft snort as he lowered his hand again. Mehrunes kept on and shook his head, softly uttering, “Pathetic…”

That, combined with the level of disrespect previously shown to him, was enough to set Malacath off. With a growl, he raised his weapon and ran at Mehrunes, only to be met with a slab of rock raising from the ground to block him when Mehrunes stomped a foot to the ground. The pommel of his blade truck the rock, sending parts flying through the air and a pain through his wrists as the hard pieces pressed on his skin. He grunted when he tried to pull his weapon back up, being held in place by the rock growing over his hands. He pulled harder, to no avail, and Mehrunes turned around. 

“We’re trying to find Sanguine, not start a quarrel on the basis of your low self-esteem,” Mehrunes chided him, making a quick gesture to Malacath’s entire being with one hand, after which he folded folded his arms over his chest and leaned on leg with his brows lowered in a scowl. “I thought I was supposed to be the bad-tempered one.”

Malacath continued to breathe fast from the adrenaline in his system and glare daggers at Mehrunes, who merely scoffed and rolled his eyes. Mehrunes was right, however. They were getting nowhere with this childish display. It hurt to admit, but the only one with a semblance of dignity in this situation was Mehrunes. Unlike Malacath, he’d carved his place into the ranks of the Daedric Princes and kept it with such fervor than even other Princes could stand to be somewhat impressed. Mehrunes needed not defend himself against such a lowly being when he was concerned with other matters. Even in this weaker form, he demanded respect. Certainly, so did Malacath, but he was more solitary. He was not the type to wade in a den of vipers to gain power. Though, he was in a swamp with one, at present… 

“I admire your fight, but now is hardly the time.” Mehrunes shook his head. “Know that I am more than willing to combat you in Oblivion.”

Only once Malacath had calmed down and lowered his shoulders, did Mehrunes break down the rock holding him in place, with a quick kick to the ground. He kept his eyes on Malacath for a moment, then turned and walked ahead, though slightly slower this time, letting Malacath pause for a moment before quickly catching up to him. 

The rest of the way was spent in a tense silence, only interrupted by the occasional enemy or the surroundings responding to their presence in the form of cracking twigs and sloshing of water. 

Mehrunes twitched his head and abruptly halted. The vines on the ground had turned spiked and gnarled, and there was something in the distance. After Malacath had stopped, Mehrunes resumed again, keeping his gaze fixated on a certain spot. His pace steadily increased, and so did Malacath’s. A loud battlecry rang through the mists. One of the standard cries for most Dremora. The cracks of lightning followed. The two charged onto the scene of a Dremora facing several undead and Sanguine being held upside down by one of the more thorny vines. A magickal sheen covered him, brighter where the vine’s force was being applied. One of his legs kicked furiously at it while he stabbed at a set of vines wrapping around his waist, shouting, “I thought you were nice! I thought you were nice, and you LIED to me!” 

As amusing as the scene was, Malacath quickly took to swinging at the vines to help Sanguine down while Mehrunes did what he did best. What he did best being turning previously animate things into inanimate and probably on fire things. Malacath’s blade went though most vines effortlessly, but the one that had wrapped around Sanguine’s waist was too dense to make an immediate clean cut through in this form, with this equipment. He soon found a vine around his legs as well, prompting him to reach for a dagger and slice off of him as fast as possible. 

Through the sounds of explosions, fire, shouting, and the swinging of heavy weapons, Malacath turned to yell, “Mehrunes,” in an attempt to grab his attention, but his voice was effectively drowned out by the aggressive combat Mehrunes partook in. That was until the vines began to prioritize the more destructive force in the area and wrapped around Mehrunes. At first, it weren’t many. He removed them from his being by growing an explosion of flame over his skin that deterred them long enough for Malacath and the Dremora to step in. 

“Mehrunes,” Malacath yelled once again. This time, Mehrunes responded.  
“Yes?” Mehrunes shouted back, even as he continued to hack at the vines and undead that swarmed him.  
“I could really use an axe and a set of thick arms here,” Sanguine cried out from where he was still hanging and squirming against the vines that held him.  
A chuckle left Mehrunes. “You know how to get out, you’re just too fucking lazy!”  
“That’s not fucking true,” Sanguine argued, a crooked frown etched into his features. “I’ve been fighting these plants, and I-” His face suddenly went into rest and his eyes narrowed as he glanced to the side. “Wait…”

Sanguine’s eyes slowly wandered down to the vines holding him, after which they wandered to his hands. A small flame frew in it where once was a ball of lightning he’d been shooting at the undead. He planted his hand onto the vines, a deep scowl on his face as he really pressed in there. The other hand infused his dagger with the destructive magic. He thrust it into the vines, but they didn’t let go, they were just trying to squish him to death AND on fire. 

“Mehrunes, I’ve been told TOO MANY lies today,” Sanguine whined. All the while, Malacath hadn’t moved from assisting Mehrunes and Sanguine’s Dremora in dispatching the dremora, leaving Sanguine entirely alone and his pleading look lit by the fires he’d started. 

A soft sigh left Mehrunes and he looked to Malacath to take his place. Mehrunes could make out where the vine around Sanguine was coming from with a quick glance. It came from the direction where, naturally, all the vines they’d been fighting were coming from. He merely had to stomp over, heft his axe, and bring it down on the thick vegetation. A few smaller vines tried to halt him, but he cut through them, too. This may have not been a wood-cutting axe, but Mehrunes made quick work of this vine. It withered, up from where it had been severed, and dropped Sanguine with enough force to send dirt flying, accompanied with squeal from Sanguine himself. At this rate, Malacath could have taken care of it with ease if he’d found a weak spot. 

Sanguine panted as he pushed himself up, his hair thrown about and dripping, his face covered in ash from the burnt out plants. “Ghosts,” he gasped as he walked up to Mehrunes and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Ghosts and a witch.” He lowered his head and took a few more good breaths while Mehrunes stared quizzically down at him. “I thought they were nice, but then the witch… She wanted me dead.” He looked back up at Mehrunes and uttered, “She’s so rude.” 

“You got him down,” Malacath noted, still swinging at the few vines that remained. “Pick him up and let’s go.”  
“No,” Sanguine loudly protested. “No, I know who that garden belongs to and I’m fixin’ to give her friend a piece of my mind!”  
Mehrunes raised hand and rested it on his forehead. “Sanguine, what garden are you ON about?”  
“There was a garden, and everything was dead and rotting, save for the garden, and the witch has the ghost who did the things,” Sanguine very eloquently explained making very vague and tense hand gestures while slightly hunched. “Okay. Okay. She made the ghost be a bitch.”  
After a slow blink, Mehrunes took a slow breath. “Alright, so you want to kill the witch.”  
“Yes. She made me lose my flask…”

There was a deep sigh from Mehrunes, but he ultimately agreed to the plan with a soft, “Okay.” 

The group ventured forth, cutting down plant and undead alike in increasing frequency. While Mehrunes enjoyed combat as much as the next warrior, or more, this was getting repetitive. Chop, burn, walk. Chop, burn, walk. A few of the vines and various undead got some good hits in when they teamed up on the group, but it was nothing that would stop them.

The farther they went, the more they got swarmed, until they’d made it past the thick of what they assumed to have been defenses. A woman was at the center of it, by a shrine that seemed made by hand, likely to Molag Bal or Namira, judging by what she was doing. Though, Mannimarco could have been a decent bet. Sanguine didn’t quite care enough to think further about it, and neither did the others. The woman’s eyes were wide as she laid them upon the group. 

“I hope we’re not coming at an inconvenient time,” Sanguine said with a cheeky grin. 

The woman didn’t respond, and merely stared, backing slowly away and reaching for a staff that was stuck into the ground next to her. Once she grabbed hold of her staff, adorned with a gem of sorts, a wicked smile grew and was soon plastered to her face. “Not at all, darling,” she said in a low and somewhat sweet tone, though there was a clear tremble in it. “Come here, so I can properly greet you.”

A laugh left Sanguine. “Oh, you mean the welcoming party was just the beginning?” While he was being so jovial, his eyes scanned his surroundings. The most obvious feature was the bound spirit that was faintly visible between him and the witch. The ground and plants nearest to the spirit seemed to deteriorate. The witch tensed her hand around her staff, and the area of effect of this decay grew, as did the negative feeling in the air. This ghost could be unbound, but it likely took either breaking the staff or just killing the witch. He may have been an absolute menace, but Sanguine wouldn’t abide the inconvenience this woman caused, not the bad feelings she was spreading without his permission. She was cocky, from the looks of it. Understandable, since they were just normal magically gifted and combative travellers to her. She likely looked at them as a possible asset. This thought made Sanguine’s smile grow wider. 

With a simple movement of his hand and the thought of an incantation, Sanguine activated a protective on his body and sauntered forth into the radius of the ghost this woman was no doubt trying to use as trap, his hair and robes lightly swaying in the wind. As he walked, the witch tensed even more, making the ghost wail and appear more visibly, the plants rotting faster. Sanguine, however, only had a magickal shine about him again. He was unaffected. His clothing was unaffected. His equipment was unaffected. When this sunk in, the witch’s smile dropped and her eyes widened. 

She tried to send vines to him, but heard the sound of rocks, and saw an orange light appear under her. In a split second, she threw out a spell and levitated above the blaze that erupted under her and reduced the ground to lava. Turning her head, she caught the enraged eyes of Mehrunes, who was holding up the heat of the fires under her enough to hurt even at the hight she was floating, but there was no one else next to him anymore. Even in this dark place, she could see Malacath standing next to Mehrunes when Sanguine had taken foot into the rot. Scouting the area, she still saw no trace of the third man she was fighting. 

Sanguine caught her gaze again, offering her a sweet smile. The vines she had sent his way had been cut cleanly through, from too far to have been his doing. They rested in his hand and began to shift, twisting and hardening, slowly forming into a staff with a thorn large enough to be counted as a blade and a single rose. He raised it into the air and tapped it to the ground, causing bright and thorny vines to spread from it that rushed to the woman. She tried to retaliate with her own staff, but it shattered with the flash of ashy green eyes. She gasped and felt spiked vines latching onto her before she could make even the slightest move. She tried to fight it, and she could tell this man was holding back, but she suddenly felt something stronger wrap around her ankles. With a slow turn of the head, she saw the ghost she had bound lowering to the ground, casting a look at her with an anger enough to equal that of Mehrunes Dagon himself. 

She screamed as she was pulled down into the flames beneath her, her skin melting at the touch. A pale blue light formed in her hand as she tried to dispel the flames, but a shadow formed in front of her. Malacath stood, with blade raised to deliver the finishing blow. With the last bit of control she had left over the ghost’s powers, she attempted to erect a barrier of vines, but Malacath wasn’t in front of it anymore by the time it had formed. A shocked glance behind revealed him forming from the mist behind her, mid swing. Her blood sprayed through the air, most of it burning up in the flames that still burned around and on her, and the gnarled vines she conjured broke to pieces. 

A relieved sigh left Sanguine, and he turned towards where the ghost had been. She was oddly absent. He frowned a little and glanced about. Suddenly, though mostly burned, the body of the witch rose as Malacath was walking away from it. He nearly cleaved it in two, but stopped short when he heard it speak.

“I-I am sorry,” the body uttered. “I-I can’t speak to you outside this form, unless I wish to hurt you…”  
“Ghost lady,” Sanguine gasped with wide eyes.  
“Ah… Y-yes,” she confirmed with a small bow of the head. “I am cursed to rot e-everything around me, but the body contains it… until it also rots away…” Her voice was mixed with that of the witch, but soft and gentle. “This woman was separating people and luring them to their deaths with the mists,” she explained, casting her eyes down and rubbing her hands together uncomfortably. “I was trying to reunite you before she attacked.” Lowering her head again, she once again said, “I-I’m sorry I hurt you.” 

Sanguine could feel the waves of Mehrunes’ still cooling anger behind him, but could see Malacath was merely trying to see what was going on, and he knew no one would make a sudden move without him, so he stepped forward with a casual gait. He had already forgiven the whole thing once the witch was dead. Besides, she gave them an adventure, so it was fine.

“You’re an alchemist,” Sanguine noted, pulling out the plant he’d picked from the small thriving garden earlier, offering it to her. The ghost gasped and took a step back. Though, she soon pulled a careful smile.  
“Y-yes. I was… I-I can’t do much when I rot all my components.” Her smile became a little sadder at that confession and she looked back to the ground. “Can you plant it outside the swamp?”  
Sanguine looked at her in silence, but then nodded, pulling his hand back. One of the vines slithered over to Sanguine and brushed against his arm, making him look down. The sight of what was there made him gasp in delight. His flask!  
“You dropped this a-a while back,” the girl noted, still looking away.  
Eagerly, Sanguine took his flask, smiling from ear to ear, and immediately wiped it, opened it, and took a long swig from it, which made the ghost giggle softly to herself.

Hazel brown eyes went over to Malacath and his blade. “I-I need you to take this woman’s head, and leave it far from here,” the ghost uttered. “She is dead, but this will make it harder for her t-to come back.”  
Malacath gave a nod and moved to the ghost’s side, raising his blade in preparation.  
The ghost turned back to Sanguine. “You were going to?”  
“Solitude?” Sanguine quickly replied.  
“You should leave quickly; things rot fast here,” she warned, after which she offered a faint smile and said, “And th-thank you.”  
With a small nod at Malacath, she let him know it was time, and he swung his blade, severing the head from the body in one fell swoop. Most of the fog died once the body fell, leaving a trail of vines growing from where it had stood.

With a huge grin, Sanguine waved and announced, “Thank YOU, spooky ghost maiden.” Nightshade still in hand, Sanguine trotted along, headed for the edge of the swamp. Mehrunes continued to rant about the whole ordeal, groaning in annoyance and occasional amusement at some of Sanguine and Malacath’s comments. When they made it to a fertile spot with plants growing well and a nice amount of moisture, Sanguine crouched down and dug a small hole, after which he carefully placed the nightshade, giving it a little tap that made it grow at least some decent roots to get it started. 

Mehrunes snorted. “Chivalrous…”  
Sanguine stood back up and wiped his hands on his pants, after which he also brushed them together.  
“I guess.”  
“Is the mortal plane always like this?” Mehrunes asked.  
Sanguine shrugged. “Kinda, but with less mist women.” 

Now, they were almost by Solitude. None of them had slept, and these mortal bodies were a real hindrance, but they had made it far and they had faced their first real obstacle of the adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Google docs didn't change any words around like it did turning "ale" into "alert." Why would Sanguine down alerts?


End file.
